Mist

20

Startled, Loki hopped up and back, pressing himself against the wall behind him. What he saw made it impossible for him to maintain his female shape, and in an instant he was Loki again. Loki, father-mother of monsters, who had never seen such a creature as this before.

You have, he thought. But only in the mind.

That had been dangerous enough. This was far worse. In the Old Tongue of the northern peoples, the thing before him was a berserkr: almost impervious to pain, immune to the cut of a blade, indestructible by fire. The body was massive and slightly hunched, the neck set low between the powerful shoulders, the fur black with a rainbow sheen worn by no living animal on Midgard. The face was neither human nor beast, though it, too, bore a sleek covering of fur as smooth as velvet. Ears set halfway between the top and sides of the head lay flat to the broad skull. Its teeth were white and sharp, its claws gleaming at the tips of blunt fingers.

It was not one of the Ulfhednar, the Wolf- skins, or the Bjornhednar, clothed only in bearskins and savagery. It was something even Loki, for all his skill in shifting shape, could never become.

And Dainn had claimed he could control it.

“What are you?” Loki whispered.

The creature glared at Loki through slitted red eyes, the pupils showing only a narrow penumbra of deep blue. He grunted a sound that might have been a word and took a step toward Loki.

Loki glanced past him toward the door of the apartment. “What do you want?” he asked. “Is this supposed to be a challenge? A warning? A threat?”

Dainn growled and lifted a pawlike hand, claws like crescents of silver catching the dim lamplight.

“You won’t hurt me,” Loki said. “You could have come after me in Asbrew and again in this very apartment, but you didn’t. Ask yourself why, my Dainn. Ask yourself why you didn’t even make the attempt to kill me.”

With a roar Loki felt deep in his bones, Dainn lunged toward him. He swiped his paw at Loki’s head. Before Loki could leap aside, Dainn changed his angle of attack and struck the wall, raking parallel grooves in the paneling. Then he froze, staring at his hand in bewilderment.

Sick with fear, Loki retreated to a safe distance. He could escape in an instant if he chose, become a fly and keep out of Dainn’s reach as long as necessary. But that would require a great deal of energy after the teleportation, and there were things he wanted very badly to know.

“You see?” he said. “There is too much between us, my Dainn, no matter how vehemently you deny it.”

Dainn wrapped his arms around his chest in a pathetically human gesture and closed his eyes.

“There, now,” Loki said. “What are we to do next? Will you cast off this shape, or shall I sell you to a circus?”

The beast began to shiver, every coarse hair on its body erect, and a moan of agony burst from its chest. It spoke another almost incomprehensible word.

No.

Loki never saw the transformation. It was nearly instantaneous, as if the whole episode had been no more than an illusion from the beginning.

But it wasn’t. For as Dainn opened his eyes, he looked directly at the quintet of deep slashes in the wall. And wept without making a sound.

Loki approached him with great care. “When did this happen, elskede min? When did it become flesh and blood? Was it born when you found yourself exiled to this world, stalked by loneliness, raging at your fate?” He traced a grotesque shape in the air between them. “Is this the last thing my Jotunar saw before they died?”

The elf shook his head. “Not this,” he said, his voice cracking on the second word.

“Does our little Valkyrie know?” Loki asked. “How can she bear to look at you?” He seized Dainn’s jaw in his hand. “You don’t want it, do you? You couldn’t accept the beast when it was merely a creature of the mind, and this is a thousand times worse. Or better, depending upon your point of view. Look at me, Dainn.”

The Alfr met his gaze, passive in the grip of his own self- loathing.

“Of course,” Loki said. “It all becomes clear. You aren’t serving Freya out of some profound loyalty to the Aesir who rejected your attempt at atonement, or to the goddess who spared you. Not even to Mist herself.” He laughed. “You surely can’t believe even the Lady can cure this malady.” He released Dainn’s chin and patted him lightly on the cheek. “My poor little elf. You don’t control it at all.”

Dainn took a step back, lost his balance and righted himself again. “You asked what I am,” he said. “The beast is a weapon. I do not want it. But it is not completely outside my control, or you would not still be breathing.” His indigo eyes darkened, and his voice grew stronger. “You asked if this was a challenge, a warning, or a threat. It is all of these. You will refrain from attacking Mist and any mortals she takes under her protection until Freya arrives. I will teach you the elf-magic with the understanding that if you should break the oath we make now—”

“Oh, you have made yourself very clear.”

Dainn shuddered like a horse shaking off flies. “You must learn not to provoke the beast.”

“You have not told me how one provokes it.”

“That you will have to discover for yourself.”

“Ah. And what about your mistress? You would give me new power, and in doing so betray the Lady.”

Dainn jerked up his zipper. “I never promised to explain myself to you, Laufeyson.”

“Still, beast or not, you cannot believe I would allow you to break your word to me. You were never—” Loki stopped, caught in the blinding light of comprehension. He whistled softly. “Of course,” he said. “I mistook the nature of your feelings. It isn’t that you’re concerned about protecting Mist from me until Freya comes to Midgard. It isn’t that you see the object of your lust in her daughter. You know that once the Sow gets her claws into Mist, our Valkyrie will essentially cease to exist. And that you cannot bear.”

The way Dainn flinched told Loki just how right he was. “I do not betray Freya,” Dainn said.

“You’re no better a liar than your lady-love,” Loki said. “You’re prepared to sacrifice yourself and Midgard to save her.”

“You will never have Midgard.”

Loki moved closer to Dainn, jealous almost beyond his ability to conceal. “Can you actually be attempting to buy time so that you can convince Freya that there is a desirable alternative to assuming Mist’s body?” he asked. “Oh, my Dainn, you will never stop the Sow from fulfilling her scheme. She has far too much invested in it.” He brushed Dainn’s ear with his lips. “If you give yourself to me, to my cause, there will be no need for this elaborate deception. We, the three of us, can defeat her. She will never be a threat to Mist again.”

Dainn planted his hand firmly on Loki’s chest and pushed him away. “Never.”

“Because you know Mist would never agree. You may have kept her in ignorance of the fate intended for her, but our girl is nothing if not courageous. Wouldn’t she gladly sacrifice her body and soul if she believed it could save Midgard? Will she not hate you when she learns what you’ve done?”

“I do not fear being hated.”

“Perhaps it is even the fate you desire,” Loki said. He pursed his lips. “Since you refuse to see reason, let us be very clear. You will teach me the magic you displayed before your other self put in its appearance. I agree that neither I nor my Jotunar will attack Mist or her mortal associates while they are within a radius of one mile of the loft. All bets are off when any of them step outside those boundaries. Agreed?”

“No. If they step outside that radius—“ “Then they must take their chances. You cannot expect me to stay my hand everywhere in this city.”

It was evident that Dainn was considering refusal. But, in the end, he surrendered.

“Agreed,” he said.

“Everything else is fair game,” Loki said. “ The Treasures belong to those who find them.”

“If they can find them.”

“I have people working on that. And now, what is my guarantee that you will teach me as you have promised? How will I know you are not holding back, or deliberately misleading me?”

Dainn turned and walked unsteadily into the spotless kitchen, found the knife block, and withdrew a chef ’s knife. Loki tensed, but Dainn resumed his place without making a single threatening gesture. He held up his hand and sliced his palm with the edge of the blade. Blood ran down his hand and dripped onto the floor. He offered the knife to Loki.

Startled by the gesture, Loki hesitated. For Dainn to offer the blood-oath to his greatest enemy was almost incomprehensible. In fact, nothing that had happened in the past hour was comprehensible. Dainn was still holding something back.

But he and Loki would be spending some “quality time” together in the very near future. And Loki would learn exactly what that something was.

He took the knife from Dainn’s hand and cut his palm, then dropped the knife to the floor. He held up his hand. Dainn mated his palm to Loki’s. Their blood mingled, as once Loki’s had mingled with Odin’s.

Dainn tried to withdraw immediately, but Loki clenched his fingers around Dainn’s hand and held on.

“Now,” Loki whispered. “Now you can never betray me.”

Dainn wrenched free. “We are not blood brothers, Slanderer,” he said. “I am still your enemy. I do what I must, and no more.”

“Naturally.” Loki held his palm to his mouth and sucked on the wound until the bleeding stopped. “When shall we begin?”

“It must be carefully arranged.”

“Then arrange it quickly, my Dainn.” Loki walked into the kitchen and pulled a snowy white towel out of a drawer. He tossed it at Dainn, who caught it with less than his usual ease. His blood stained the towel crimson, and he dropped it onto the floor beside the knife.

“I quite enjoyed our little discussion,” Loki said. “And who knows? You may change your mind about resuming our former relationship.”

Dainn smiled, an expression as chilling as the beast itself. The effect was ruined by the darkening shadows around his eyes and the trembling of his legs when he backed away. “I will contact you,” he said, turning toward the door.

It opened before he could reach it. Two Jotunar barreled through, dragging a limp form between them.

Mist.

She regained consciousness lying on a cream-colored leather sofa, her nose clogged with blood and her head pounding.

Loki was standing over her, displaying his full array of very white teeth.

“Well, well,” he said. “Speak of the devil. Her is our little Valkyrie, boldly charging to the rescue. Dainn must have done a very poor job of concealing his intentions. But his judgment does seem to be rather flawed these days.”

Mist bolted up and tried to stand, but nausea overwhelmed her and she sank back to the couch.

“Mist!”

Dainn’s voice. She looked for him and found him standing between the two Jotunar, who stood ready to grab him the second he moved. He had clearly lost the battle. Blood was spattered over the front of his shirt, and his face had that terrible, gaunt look, but he was alive.

“Why did you come?” Dainn asked, anguish in his eyes.

His naked emotion nearly undid her. “Did you really think I wouldn’t?” she asked, deliberately injecting hopelessness into her voice. “Did you think I’d let you take him on alone?”

“How poignant,” Loki said. “It seems Dainn’s feelings are not unrequited. But I thought better of you, Mist. I have you both in my hands now. One might say the game is as good as won already.”

Dainn stared fixedly at Loki’s back until Laufeyson turned to face him. “This is, after all, nowhere near the loft,” he said.

Mist didn’t understand him or the look they gave each other, but she was more concerned about how and when to make her move. She’d only get one chance, and she still had no idea if she could make the Vanir magic work.

“I’ve called Freya,” she said. “If you do anything else to me or Dainn, she’ll be pretty pissed.”

“And pour her power into you, as she did in Asbrew?” he asked. He glanced at Dainn again, smiling slightly.

He doesn’t know, Mist reminded herself. Dainn had been right. Loki still believed that power was Freya’s alone. What did he think she’d experienced when Freya had apparently “possessed” her?

It hardly mattered, as long as he thought she was incapable of fighting with anything more than her sword. All she had to do now was make him think she was helpless and trying to cover her fear with bravado. Get him off his guard and keep him there as until she found just the right moment.

Oh, yes. That was all she had to do.

“She’s coming,” Mist said. “She could be here any second.”

“And you welcome her arrival,” he said. “You truly don’t know, do you?”

Mist bit back her desire to ask him what he meant. “I know you’re not ready to face her again, Slanderer.”

“You misjudge me,” Loki said, his lips compressing into a hard line. “But then, so did your lover.”

“Dainn?” Mist laughed, hiding her shock. “Where did you get that idea? I’m here because he’s my mother’s ally, and mine.”

“A very pitiful company,” Loki said.

“Maybe, but you’re bleeding allies right and left yourself. I assume Dainn discussed your attack on the loft?”

“Must we go through this again?” Loki asked. “I authorized no attack.”

“You’re a liar.”

“Ask Dainn. He believes me.”

She glanced at the elf. Dainn met her gaze without blinking. He did believe Loki, crazy as it seemed.

Later she’d get an explanation from him. If they survived.

“Maybe he does,” she admitted. “But you’re still facing a little problem, aren’t you, Slanderer?” Mist said, rubbing the fading bruise on her cheek. “How many Jotunar have you got to spare? The bridges are closed, and you’re going to lose a lot more giants before you figure out how to open them again. If you ever do.”

Loki leaned over her, bracing his arms to either side of her head. His breath was hot on her face.

“If you know something useful,” he said, “I may spare your life.”

“You’ll kill us anyway, if that’s your intention,” Mist said. “But you won’t stop Freya from fighting you. We’re not as irreplaceable as you seem to think.”

“I doubt you can be replaced,” Loki said. “After all, you are her—”

Mist caught a flash of movement behind Loki, and suddenly Dainn was on top of him. It didn’t take long for the Jotunar to grab him, peel him off Laufeyson’s back, and throw him against the wall. Dainn slid to the ground and lay where he fell, unable to resist the giants when they dragged him to his feet and pinned him against the wall by his collar.

The distraction— if that was Dainn’s purpose—worked perfectly. Loki left Mist, strode to Dainn, and struck him hard across the face.

“You never learn, do you?” Loki said. “You have no bargaining chips left, my Dainn. Not even that thing that shares your mind.”

Mist shifted very slowly, careful not to let Loki or the Jotunar observe her movement. That thing that shares your mind, Loki had said. So Dainn had let it loose in hopes of killing their enemy, just as she’d believed all along.

“I see that you do know about the creature inside him,” Loki said to Mist over his shoulder.

“Yes.”

“And yet you trust him?”

“It doesn’t bother me at all.”

She tried to catch Dainn’s eye again, but he was staring into Loki’s face. “Mist is right,” he said. “Freya will not be deterred by our deaths.”

Loki pressed so close to Dainn that their lips almost touched. “I may let you live, if you agree to serve me. In every way.”

“Let her go, and I agree.”

“Let her go?” Loki stroked Dainn’s cheek where he had struck him. “I think I would be wiser to hold her hostage to ensure Freya’s good behavior. And yours. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Dainn said thickly, as if he could barely force the words from his throat. “Hold her prisoner, but do not harm her.”

Loki kissed Dainn gently on the lips. “It will be as if we had never parted.”

Mist looked away. She had understood that he and Dainn had worked closely together before Dainn had recognized his error and tried to warn the Aesir. But she had never expected this.

They had obviously been far more than partners in a supposed attempt to establish a lasting peace. And though Dainn’s hatred of Loki was clear in every line of his body, Laufeyson still wanted him. Dainn would submit to keep her alive.

There was a heaviness in Mist’s chest—anger, grief, a profound sense of loss. But with those feelings came that sense of half-familiar power gathering inside her—that same magic she had turned against Dainn in the loft and again, less successfully, in the gym—an instinctive awareness of the elements around her, of ancient forces at work in her body. And slowly, slowly, the tattoo around her wrist began to come alive.

It was like a battery recharging. She still had no idea if she could control the magic, but she knew, even without understanding her certainty, that she couldn’t succeed if she didn’t give the magic time to build to the highest level her mind could accept.

She had to buy more time. She didn’t know if Loki was still susceptible to Freya’s presence in spite of his claims to the contrary, but it was worth a try.If it would help her keep him guessing until she was ready . . .

“Are you sure this is what you want, Slanderer?” she asked, gathering Freya’s mantle of honey, sex, and primroses about herself. Loki spun around. Dainn slumped back to the floor as Mist draped her body seductively over the couch and smiled every so gently. “Mist,” Loki said, his lip curling. “What ever you’re playing at, you can give it up now.”

Mist looked around the room. “Mist? I don’t see her. Perhaps she’s hiding behind the draperies?”

With an angry laugh, Loki strode to the couch. He grabbed the collar of Mist’s jacket and hauled her up.

“Do you seriously think I’d believe you’re Freya?” he demanded. “Don’t you think I can tell the difference?”

She let him hold her up, pliable as a silken ribbon, and linked her arms around his neck. “You are always so sure of yourself, Laufeyson. But sometimes even you are wrong.”

Pushing even the thought of revulsion out of her mind, she kissed him. His arms tightened around her, and he thrust his tongue inside her mouth. She responded as ardently as she once had with Eric.

Abruptly Loki let her go and threw her back onto the couch. “Try that again, Mist,” he said, “and I’ll make both of you suffer.”

“Are you sure you can?” Mist asked, stretching her arms above her head. “Why don’t you try and find out?”

Something in her act must have worked, because Loki hesitated. And while he did, Dainn spoke in her mind.

Tell him about the time he tried to give you roses in Sessrumnir.

She witnessed the scene in less than a second and reminded Loki of that long-ago encounter. He reared back, his face going red. But he recovered quickly.

“You find this amusing?” he hissed. “I can still kill this body and send you back to the Void. If you were prepared to use the Eitr now, you would have done it already.”

Mist had no idea what he was talking about, but she didn’t drop the mask. “Perhaps I wanted to toy with you a while, as you have toyed with my servants,” she said.

Again Loki seemed uncertain, wavering between belief in Mist’s claimed identity and the suspicion that he was being tricked. Mist felt power flow through her as if carried by an invisible network of vessels like chi meridians, pumping magic into every fiber of her being. The tattoo flared, not painful but aflame with energy. She could smell the clouds hanging over the city, heavy with precipitation . . . feel the limestone in the concrete, hear the flame leaping in the fireplace far below in the lobby.

But something blocked the flow. Something inside her still didn’t want to let go.

Abruptly Loki spun around again and strode back to Dainn. “How much does this servant mean to you, Sow?” he asked. He grabbed Dainn’s long, tangled hair and dragged him to his feet again. “You have never cared for anything or anyone you could not use to your benefit or for your pleasure. This creature has failed you. Shall I kill him quickly, or slowly?”

He was calling Mist’s bluff, knowing she’d do almost anything to keep Dainn alive. But he didn’t think Freya would.

“Do what you like with him,” she said.

Loki took Dainn by the throat. He ran his fingertip across the smear of blood at the corner of Dainn’s mouth and began to paint Rune- staves on the elf ’s forehead.

Merkstaves. Runes of death.

Dainn’s thoughts touched hers again—wordless but utterly clear.

Save yourself.

All at once she was back in Asbrew, hearing Dainn’s mental voice for the first time. Something released inside her, a dam giving way before a relentless flood, a tree cracking in two as lightning struck to its very heart. Mist clenched her fist, and the Rune- stave Thurisaz, the giant, leaped free of her hand and charged toward the huge window overlooking the Bay. It exploded inward, hurling shards of glass like arrows that narrowly missed Dainn but pierced one of the Jotunar’s cheeks. He bellowed and ran at Mist.

She reached through clouds and darkness for the rising moon and tried to catch the reflected light of the sun in her open hands— Sowilo reversed, destruction and retribution. The light was weak, but she shaped what she had caught and hurled it like a burning coal at the Jotunn. He burst into flame if he had been dipped in gasoline.

Loki backed away from Dainn and swung around to face her, his face almost comical in its astonishment. Dainn’s knees began to buckle, but he forced himself upright and looked at Mist with hope in his eyes.

“Dainn!” she shouted. “Find Gungnir!”

She didn’t have a chance to see if Dainn obeyed. Loki jumped over the Jotunn’s writhing, blackened body and came straight at her, his lips moving, the air coalescing into a solid block of ice that threatened to shatter Mist’s body on contact.

Instinct alone saved her. She reached skyward again, flowing into the light, becoming a spear flung as high as the highest branch of the World Tree Ygdrassil.

The spear struck the clouds and reflected back on itself as if the sky were a mirror. Lightning laced the gray canopy and plunged earthward, striking the ground between her and Loki, scorching the polished hardwood floor and flinging Loki halfway across the room.

He recovered almost immediately and raced toward her, his face distorted with rage. An instant before he reached her, he changed.

It was only illusion, but it stopped Mist cold. The face and body belong to Eric—Eric, with his broad, open smile, his good humor, his love of life. And Mist.

“You don’t really want to hurt me, do you?” he asked in his deep voice.

Mist recognized the trap too late. Her hands fell, nerveless and limp. Eric’s eyes lit with satisfaction.

“It was you,” he said. “I admit you have astonished me, little Valkyrie. But now I think it is time to—”

Mist heard nothing of what Loki said after that, felt nothing but raw power that wasn’t her own, saw nothing but golden light.

A part of her clung to consciousness, and she knew what was happening to her. Freya was with her, inside her, controlling her body as if she were a mere shell of flesh and bone.

Her mother had come at last.